


Notes from the Typewriter

by Zanate56



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: 100 prompts, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanate56/pseuds/Zanate56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 100_prompts community on Livejournal.  Lots of H/C and father/son fluff ahead!  Comic-verse.  Ch. 10 - "Consequences".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Immortal

Marie closed the door to her newest patient’s room, relieved to see that the young man who had been treated for a burst appendix yesterday seemed to be resting comfortably now. Her only concern was that the boy didn’t have any visitors and she knew how much a familiar face could aid the healing process. When asked if there was anyone they should call the boy (apparently he went by the nickname “Tintin”) had only managed “Captain” before the surgeon had administered the sleeping gas.

According to one of the admitting orderlies it had been the boy’s landlady who had frantically called for an ambulance. When the poor boy had been brought in his face had been stark white and he had been nearly screaming in agony.

If only they knew who that “Captain” was, Marie mused as she made a note on her clipboard as she went to check on her next patient. The hospital wing was quiet with few visitors due to the heavy downpour outside. 

“…don’t give a whit what the doctor said! I want to see him, NOW!”

Marie nearly dropped her clipboard in shock as the voice, far louder than the thunder outside, rang through the corridor. Suddenly a tall, strongly built man rushed into the wing, two orderlies right behind him. His raven dark hair was plastered to his brow and rainwater dripped from his beard. He was looking around frantically. One of the orderlies tried to pull him back out but the man easily shook him off.

Just when Marie was about to ring for more help Dr. Jordan, the physician on call, came into the corridor.

“What is the meaning of all this noise?”

“I’ve no idea sir,” said Marie. “This man…”

“This man wants to know where Tintin is!” the man finished for her, now struggling against two orderlies’ hold.

Dr. Jordan frowned and gestured for the orderlies to step back. “Sir, are you by chance Captain Archibald Haddock?”

“Aye, that’s me.”

“Sir, you may see your friend on the condition that you calm yourself immediately. I will not have you disturbing my patients. I have no qualms about throwing you out.”

The man, Captain Haddock, nodded and took a deep breath. He suddenly seemed to deflate and now just looked exhausted.

“I apologize,” he said in a much milder tone. “I’m just worried – Mrs. Finch could only tell me that Tintin had been brought here and that his appendix had ruptured. Please, where is he?”

“He’s just through here,” said the doctor. “Marie will show you the way.”

Haddock followed them down to the room Marie had just left and stepped into the room. Dr. Jordan and Marie watched from the doorway as the captain pulled up a chair close to the boy’s bedside.

Haddock was alarmed to see how pale and still his normally vibrant friend appeared. The hospital gown he had been given was too large on him and only added to the effect of making him seem far younger than he actually was.

“Tintin, can you hear me lad?” said Haddock in a whisper, torn between letting the boy rest and satisfying his need to see that Tintin was all right.

“Captain…” murmured Tintin, slowly openly his eyes that were still bleary from the medication.

Haddock leaned closer so that the boy wouldn’t have to strain his voice. “Aye, it’s me lad. How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” said Tintin, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he looked somewhat more lucid.

“H-how did you get here? Thought you were still in Liverpool…”

“Mrs. Finch rang me after you had been taken to hospital. I left as soon as I could.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“Hush, I know but I wanted to come.”

Haddock paused and then continued in a more serious tone. “Mrs. Finch said that you had been feeling a bit under the weather before this happened. You should have gone to a doctor.”

“Though it was just the flu,” Tintin mumbled, closing his eyes again.

Haddock sighed. Lord save him from stubborn youth, he thought even though he knew he had been just as bad as Tintin at his age.

“You told me once that I should take better care of my health since no man is immortal. Well, now I’m holding you to that same promise, young fellow.”

Tintin nodded and then smiled when he felt Haddock’s rough hand gently brush across his brow, smoothing his hair. Haddock patted the boy’s hand and his eyes widened in shock.

“Blistering barnacles, you feel like ice!” he exclaimed. He took Tintin’s hand between his own larger ones and rubbed it briskly in an effort to warm it.

“Visiting hours will be over soon, Doctor,” said Marie softly, though she was loathe to disrupt the quiet scene before them. 

“Let him stay until the rain stops,” said Jordan, closing the door to give them privacy. 

Marie smiled. “Very good, sir.”


	2. Sway

He wasn’t always so desperately tied to the drink. In his younger days Haddock could enjoy a pint or two with his mates without worrying about whether he would be able to stop. He wasn’t certain when he had lost that sense of control, but he was certain that his life and career had gradually spiraled downward over the years until he had become the drunken wreck of a man that Tintin had first met aboard the _Karaboudjan._ Haddock knows the boy means well by his efforts to get him off the bottle and so tries to keep his promises to ease up on the alcohol, even though they both know he’ll eventually break them at some point. And in a small, despairing part of his heart Haddock wonders whether he values the drink or Tintin’s friendship more. 

One night, after he fails yet another time to abstain, Haddock asks Tintin why he even bothers when others, even his old friend Chester, have despaired of getting him to stop drinking.

“Because you’re my friend, and if anything happened to you I’d be alone,” said Tintin with rare frankness. The boy didn’t usually reveal his inner feelings, not even after knowing Haddock for over a year. 

Those words alone are enough to sway Haddock’s hand the next time he reaches for a bottle.


	3. Sticks and Stones

Mrs. Finch nodded to Haddock as he stepped across the threshold of Tintin’s flat. By now the landlady was accustomed to the captain’s visits, though she was still somewhat cool towards him. At least she no longer eyed him with outright suspicion, he thought. Granted Haddock hadn’t made the best impression on her the first time Tintin had introduced them, given that he was still half-drunk and in badly need of a shave.

“Good evening, Mrs. Finch,” he said with a respectful tip of his hat. “Is Tintin in?”

“He is, though I’m not sure he’s up for visitors.”

Haddock frowned. “Why not? Is he ill?”

“See for yourself,” said the landlady with a long-suffering sigh, gesturing that he could go on up.

Bemused and slightly worried, Haddock went up and knocked on the door. “Tintin, it’s Haddock.”

When there was no answer Haddock decided that propriety could go to blazes and opened the door. Nothing seemed amiss, he noted with relief. Tintin was stretched out on the settee, Snowy curled up beside him. At first Haddock thought that the boy was asleep but then noticed the ice pack that he was holding to his jaw.

“Hullo, Captain,” said Tintin, opening his eyes as he craned his neck over the settee’s edge. “Please come in.”

Haddock did, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and frowned down at Tintin, who had made no move to get up and had closed his eyes again. 

“What happened to your face, lad?”

The boy sighed and lowered his hand and Haddock’s eyes widened at the livid bruising that covered the left side of his jaw. 

“Thundering typhoons! How did that happen?”

“I, well, I got into a bit of scrape,” said Tintin, wincing as his swollen jaw throbbed.

Haddock snorted. That did not surprise him. And he had no doubt Tintin’s definition of a “scrape” was a bit different than the general populace’s definition.

“Let me see,” he said, kneeling down next to settee. He reached for the boy’s wrist and gently pulled his arm away. Haddock’s jaw tightened as he studied the deep bruising. He had been in enough scrapes himself to see that Tintin was in a lot of discomfort even though the boy was trying to hide it.

Haddock knew Tintin could handle himself in a fight – the _Karaboudjan_ affair had proved that – but it still made his blood boil that anyone would intentionally harm his good-hearted young friend.

“What on earth did you do to warrant such a wallop?” Haddock asked, replacing the ice pack against the boy’s face.

“I was interviewing a gentleman at one of the local pubs and one of his friends brought up your name. He made a rather rude comment about your reputation and I corrected him.”

Tintin smiled and shrugged. “He didn’t like that and well…there you have it.”

Haddock wasn’t sure whether to feel angry at the man for striking a boy or touched at his friend’s defense of his name. He stood and sat down on the chair across from Tintin.

“It wasn’t worth it, lad. I don’t care what others think of my reputation, or rather what’s left of it. Sticks and stones and all that.”

“Yes, it was,” said Tintin firmly.


	4. Museum

Tintin watched proudly as Haddock spoke with the guests during the opening of the Marlinspike Hall Maritime museum. The captain looked very sharp in his dress uniform and had insisted that the gallery was to be open to everyone at no charge. And from what Tintin had heard from the locals the gallery would hopefully bring some badly needed business to Marlinshire.

The boy leaned back against the wall, content to watch and let Haddock enjoy himself. The captain had more than earned it and hopefully owning a home would help distract Haddock from that terrible whiskey. After a while Haddock excused himself and made his way over to Tintin.

“Well lad, the gallery seems to be a success,” he said, nodding towards the crowd.

“It is indeed. Congratulations again, Captain. And it was very good of you to offer the professor a place to stay,” said Tintin with a grin. 

Haddock and Tintin had learned that shortly after they had returned from their voyage Professor Calculus’ landlady had finally given him notice and ordered him out within the week. 

“Well, if it hadn’t been for Calculus I never would have been able to afford the place at all, so it’s as much his as mine,” said Haddock.

“And that goes for you and Snowy as well,” he added. “Without your help we never would have found Rackham’s treasure.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Nestor. “There is a gentleman from the local paper who’d like to meet you.”

“Right, I’ll be there in a moment – excuse me, lad.”

Tintin nodded and watched Haddock disappear back into the crowd. The captain’s insistence that his home was Tintin’s home as well meant more to him than any share of buried treasure could.


	5. Practical

“CALCULUS!”

Haddock’s angry bellow rang through the hall at the same time a huge explosion rumbled through the house. Tintin, who had just stepped through the front door, raised his brow. It sounded like Calculus was up to one of his experiments again.

As he stepped over the threshold a horrible, awful stench suddenly hit his nose. Gagging, Tintin staggered backwards as he threw an arm up to cover his nose. Behind him Snowy whined and quickly backed away from the door.

“What on earth – ” he wheezed as bright green smoke began to seep down the main staircase and throughout the foyer.

Haddock suddenly came running down the stairs, a handkerchief thrust to his nose as he threw open windows. He gestured for Tintin to go back outside and quickly followed the boy out. Once they were a safe distance away Haddock threw his handkerchief down in disgust.

“Confound that old goat! I swear on my granddaddy’s beard, this time I will throw him out!” he exclaimed, even though they both knew Haddock would never do such a thing.

Calculus came out a few moments later, polishing his glasses. He seemed completely unaffected by the horrid stench that permeated the air.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about that, Captain,” he said. “The chemical reaction was quite unexpected.” He put his glasses back on and blinked owlishly when he noticed Tintin.

“Oh, hello Tintin,” he said amicably. “How are you?”

“Very well, Professor, thank you,” said Tintin with a smile. It was simply impossible to stay angry at Calculus for long.

“I’m sorry, lad,” said Haddock with a sigh. “This is probably the last thing you were expecting for a vacation. Why don’t you stay at the inn for the night until the smell clears out? I’m sure Tom could find a room for you.”

“Nonsense,” said Tintin. “I came to see you and the professor and so here I’ll stay.” 

Tintin paused and then grinned as an idea suddenly came to him.

“Why don’t we sleep outside?”

“Outside?” Haddock repeated in confusion, raising a dark brow.

“Yes – it’s certainly warm enough and at least that way we’ll have a nice breeze. It’ll be like camping,” he added excitedly.

“Yes, yes, a camping trip!” said Calculus. “That’s just the thing for you two to catch up while I work on a counteragent for the smell.”

Chuckling, Tintin shook his head and went to go retrieve his luggage from where he had left it by the front door. After the boy had left Haddock eyed Calculus suspiciously.

“You know,” he said eventually, “I sometimes think you aren’t as deaf as you say you are.”

When Calculus merely gazed innocently back at him Haddock shrugged and decided that he was growing paranoid in his old age. It was either that or too much whiskey.

Later that night Haddock and Tintin reclined on old but comfortable sleeping rugs that Nestor had borrowed for them. The manservant had decided to stay at the inn rather than camp outside until the smell had cleared out and Haddock couldn’t blame the man. Lord knows between his drinking and Calculus’ experiments Nestor deserved a rest.

It was a rare warm night for April and the night sky was filled with stars. Tintin gazed at them, thinking of how different the sky looked in the country away from the smog and lights of the city. 

“You know, I used to do this with my father sometimes,” said Haddock after a while. 

Tintin turned his head in surprise. “Do what – camp?”

“Aye, but he stopped after the drink took hold of him.”

As Tintin listened he suddenly realized that he knew next to nothing about Haddock’s family or his past. And something inside of him told Tintin that Haddock missed those camping days with his father.

The boy rolled over onto his side, careful not to disturb Snowy who was curled up next to him.

“Captain?”

“Hmm?”

“Could we do this again sometime?”

“What, you mean sleeping outside on the lawn for no practical reason?”

“Well…yes.”

Haddock paused for a moment. “Of course, laddie.”

Smiling, Tintin closed his eyes and let sleep find him.


	6. Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait between updates, everyone. I've had a bout of writer's block, especially with this latest installment. This is a direct sequel to Ch. 1, "Immortal". I hope this latest chapter is enjoyable, and thank you again for all of the comments and reviews. If there is anything in particular readers would like to see in future installments please don't hesitate to ask in either a review or PM. :)

When Haddock was finally allowed to take Tintin home following the surgery for his ruptured appendix he was more relieved than he let on. He had barely slept since Mrs. Finch had rang him and had convinced the doctor that staying with him in Marlinshire would do Tintin a world of good towards recovery.

Later that night after Tintin had been settled in his room Haddock came in to check on his friend. He was dismayed to see that the boy was pale and restless. Haddock came in and sat on the edge of bed and Tintin stopped his restless turning to gaze blearily at the captain.

“Do you need something for the pain, lad?” Haddock asked, unable to help trailing a rough but gentle hand across the boy’s brow and down his cheek. Tintin’s skin felt warm but not feverish, he noted with relief.

Tintin blanched at the mention of more morphine and quickly shook his head, but stopped when his head swam.

“I won’t be able to sleep – the morphine makes me sick to my stomach,” he said.

Well, if the boy was too stubborn to take anything for the pain then Haddock would just have to distract him. He racked his brains for an idea and then suddenly inspiration struck him.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I sailed through Cape Horn?” he said, sitting himself more comfortably on the bed’s edge while he stuffed fresh tobacco into his pipe.

Tintin opened his eyes and stared at the captain in astonishment, suddenly forgetting his discomfort.

“You sailed through the Horn? Isn’t that a very dangerous area for sailors? When was that? What ship was it on?”

Haddock held up a hand. “Steady on, lad. I wasn’t much older than you are now – perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. I was a young midshipman and we were sailing from east to west – the worst possible course you could take at the edge of the world.

“A terrible storm hit us as we neared the Horn. Waves over thirty metres high, a sky so dark you couldn’t see anything with the wind, rain and hail…it was almost beyond description.”

Tintin listened with rapt attention. “Were you frightened?” he asked.

Haddock took a long pull on his pipe and thought for a moment before answering.

“I’ll tell you this, Tintin, any man who wasn’t God-fearing before that storm hit us certainly was afterwards. As for myself, I was praying to God that if we didn’t make it we would all at least have quick deaths. I was bloody terrified.

“But after the storm cleared and we caught sight of land…well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight.”

Haddock’s eyes grew distant as he recalled the awesome first sight of the Horn looming out of the mist, sunlight breaking through the weakening storm clouds.

“Wait a moment,” said Tintin. “Why was your ship sailing through the Horn at all? The Panama Canal has been opened since 1914. Surely that would have been much safer?”

Haddock grinned around his pipe. “That, my young fellow, is a story for another time.”

He stood and knocked his pipe against the fire grate to empty it of ashes. “Tell you what, lad, you get better and I’ll tell you the rest of it.” 

“Captain, would you ever want to go back to the Horn?”

“No,” said Haddock grimly. “There’s a reason why the Horn is known as a sailors’ graveyard. All of those rich blokes that you read about in the papers who are trying to round the Horn in their fancy yachts are fools. The Horn, and the sea, are merciless to the inexperienced Tintin. Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise.”

He turned to go but stopped short at Tintin’s next question.

“Captain, if you had the chance…would you go back to the sea? I mean, if you were able to join up again with the navy…would you?”

Haddock looked at the boy in surprise. Tintin gazed steadily back at him but there was an uncertainty in Tintin’s blue eyes that made Haddock pause. It was moments like this when he was reminded of how young Tintin was. No matter how mature and responsible Tintin appeared, sometimes Haddock could see flashes of a young boy who had grown up without any family and now was afraid of losing a dear friend.

“No, lad, I wouldn’t,” he said gently. “I miss being part of the merchant navy, but that part of my life is over. Marlinspike is my home now. Besides,” he added with a sudden rakish grin. “I’m a Haddock, and Haddocks don’t flee their homes.”

Tintin nodded and smiled, lying back down. He watched as Haddock selected a book from the shelf and pulled up a chair close to his beside.

“You don’t have to stay,” the boy murmured drowsily. Haddock shrugged as he opened the book. 

“I’m right where I need to be, lad. Now go to sleep.”


	7. Speak

Tintin has always loved words. From the moment he could read on his own he was constantly hungry for them, devouring any book – regardless of the subject matter – with a voraciousness that had made his guardians shake their heads in amazement. Being raised in a monastery had meant that there had been no shortage of books and as he had grown older Tintin had always saved a portion of his meager income to purchase books. For a long time they had been his only companion aside from Snowy. And now, years later at almost eighteen years of age, Tintin finds that while he stills loves the written word, it’s not the same as the companionship he has found in dear acquaintances, most especially Haddock.

It’s ironic, really, that he has so much skill with writing but he cannot find the words to tell Haddock how much the older man’s friendship means to him. Chang is like a brother to Tintin and Calculus is as dear to him as a treasured grandfather, but Haddock’s friendship is the only one that has been able to ease the aching loneliness Tintin always felt and had never been quite able to get rid of. It was the ache of a lonely orphaned boy for a father and no matter how much Tintin tried to convince himself he doesn’t need anyone he knows it’s a lie.

Tintin keeps telling himself that one day he will tell the captain just how much he means to him, but he can never seem to speak the words out loud. And after their harrowing return to Earth, followed by the unforgiving dangers of the Tibetan mountains, Tintin realises with sickening, crushing reality that he could have lost Haddock at any moment during those events and he would have never known how important he was to Tintin. Tintin would go to hell and back for Chang, or for any of his friends, but for Haddock he would go the ends of the earth and beyond – even death. He had meant what he said when he had told Haddock, as they had both hung between heaven and earth, that they would either both live or die together.

“Tintin, wake up lad,” said a voice in his ear and Tintin slowly lifts his head up from where he had fallen asleep at his desk.

He blinked at the clock and then looked up at Haddock, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Had he really been asleep all night? He must have, because there was sunlight pouring into his bedroom window and Haddock was still in his nightclothes and dressing gown.

“Were you up all night, lad? Why the blazes didn’t you go to bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, there’s coffee downstairs if you want it,” said Haddock. The older man gave the boy a gentle shake before he left. “You’re too hard on yourself, laddie. Whatever it was that kept you up all night, it’s not worth losing sleep over.”

He turned to go but stopped when the boy called to him.

“Captain,” said Tintin.

Haddock paused and looked over his shoulder at Tintin. His face was more lined and there were a few more grey hairs than when Tintin had first met the man, but in everything else Haddock was just the same. The thought of never seeing that face again, or hearing Haddock’s voice or even having his steady presence at his side was unbearable.

“Thank you,” said Tintin, infusing every ounce of gratitude and affection he could into those two simple words.

Haddock smiled and shook his head. “Any time, landlubber. Now go downstairs and eat – you’re thin as a rail and Bianca has threatened to come down and tend to you herself if you aren’t more hail and hearty when she next sees you.”

After Haddock had left Tintin made a promise to himself. Soon he would not just feel the words that Haddock needed to hear, but he would speak them out loud and let his friend know that he loved him as the father he had never had.


	8. Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been neglecting the other wonderful characters of the Tintin stories, and so here is my first chapter dedicated to good old Professor Calculus (and to a lesser extent, Bianca Castafiore). I love both of these characters and will be doing more chapters on the supporting characters in Herge's universe. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing.

Professor Cuthbert Calculus, despite his numerous academic credentials and varied interests, considered himself to be a simple man. He had always held a child-like fascination for the universe in all of its marvelous complexity and he had never lost that natural curiosity even as an adult. It had served him well as a scientist and inventor, and while the horrors of the Great War had sent the scientific community scrambling towards weapons development Calculus had redoubled his efforts towards bettering the world, not finding means to destroy it.

He had witnessed first-hand the horrible effects of war on innocent lives and had refused to put his talents towards any sort of weapon-making endeavours despite having received numerous requests from both European governments and the Americans. There were now disturbing rumours of another conflict brewing in Europe, and even worse that the Americans were experimenting with weaponized nuclear energy. It made Calculus shiver to even think of such a weapon actually being put to use.

But for now, he had more pressing worries than the political situation in Europe – specifically, how to get his two dear, stubborn friends back on speaking terms. Haddock and Tintin were as close as any father and son could be, but like all families they had their disagreements from time to time. The only times Haddock and Tintin seriously argued were over the former's drinking and the latter's constant rushing off into danger.

This was the current predicament Calculus was now mulling over – Haddock had drunk more than his usual allotment of whiskey and this was no doubt caused in part to Tintin recovering from another botched kidnapping, along with a nasty blow to the head that had kept Haddock up for two nights straight with worry. In short both Tintin and Haddock were worried, exhausted and angry with each other and were now doing their best to not speak to one another.

Calculus snorted over the rim of his teacup – those two, really. It was ridiculous. And Haddock excused _him_ of "acting the goat". Absurd.

Across the table where he sat Bianca looked up from the sheet of music she had been perusing as another muffled thump came from the large shed not too far from where they sat in the garden.

"You locked them in there, didn't you Professor?"

Calculus raised a dark eyebrow as he calmly took another sip of tea.

"Why my dear lady, whatever gave you that idea?"

Bianca giggled. It really was brilliant, to "accidentally" lock Tintin and Haddock in the large, airy shed unto they had cleared the air between them. Nestor had undoubtedly approved of Calculus' methods, however unorthodox they might be, and had promptly removed himself from the situation so that he could plead ignorance later.

"You, my dear Professor, are incorrigible!"

"I know," said Calculus, his lips twitching.

Bianca smirked as she sipper her tea, wondering when the good captain would figure out that Calculus wasn't half as deaf as he pretended to be. He simply liked to get a rise out of Haddock.


	9. Edges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! Fear not dear readers; this story will eventually be completed after 100 chapters. I hope the theme of this chapter makes up for its shortness. Enjoy!

After over twenty years of service in the merchant navy Haddock had met many different kinds of people, and had faced many dangerous situations with the unique combination of courage and stubbornness that had helped elevate Haddock to the rank of captain earlier than many of his peers.

Haddock's reputation among his fellow seamen had always been something of an oddity depending on whom was asked, but any man who had ever sailed with him knew that Haddock was a strict but fair captain. Not even the aftermath of the Karaboudjan affair could shake those men's loyalty to Haddock.

For Haddock's part, he had always felt most comfortable with the 'salt of the earth', as his grandfather had been fond of saying. He understood those men and their struggles against a society that still clung fiercely to their views on tradition and proper "breeding", whatever that meant.

But nothing in Haddock's experience could have prepared him for dealing with a distraught young reporter who had received a telegram in error which had stated that Haddock's train from London had been in an accident and had derailed.

Even severely shocked at seeing Haddock safe and unharmed (the telegram had mentioned several fatalities) Tintin was not given to hysterics; it simply wasn't in his nature. But both he and Nestor still looked pale and shaky as Haddock quickly explained that he had been on a different train and that it was another one that had derailed.

After Nestor had retired Haddock turned back to Tintin. The boy looked utterly exhausted and Haddock suddenly thought how he would have felt if their situations were reversed. God, just the thought alone was enough to send ice water pumping through his veins.

Whenever he had needed to reassure an inexperienced young sailor in his crew a few sharp words and a clap on the back had been sufficient for Haddock. But Tintin was much younger than even the youngest sailors Haddock had sailed with; a rough edge simply wouldn't do here. Or would it?

When Tintin stood on shaky legs to also retire he had barely managed a hoarse "good night" before Haddock had pulled him into a rough but warm embrace. Tintin stiffened but before he could say anything Haddock pulled back and held the boy at arm's length.

"Look at me laddie," said Haddock injecting a bit of firm authority into his voice. "I'm perfectly fine, so you can tell whatever thoughts that are running about in that head of yours to sod off."

Tintin laughed and let himself lean against Haddock, suddenly feeling lightheaded with relief.

"Don't scare me like that again," he said, his voice muffled against Haddock's coat.

The older man snorted even though he readily returned the embrace. "Now you know how I feel, laddie. So let's try not to scare each other for at least a while, savvy?"

Tintin laughed and nodded. "Deal."


	10. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more serious here, folks. This is a plot bunny that I'm working on as part of a longer fic. I don't want to give too much away but let's just say that Haddock's drinking problem is something I plan to explore more fully, as well as the inevitable consequences of such long-term addiction. And no, this is NOT a death fic despite what it looks like. ;)

"Captain Haddock, I must speak plainly to you, sir. If you do not stop drinking completely the consequences _will_ be fatal."

Haddock sighed. "You've been saying that for at least a year, doctor," said Haddock. "I hardly think -"

"The loss of appetite, those muscle pains you've been experiencing, increased weakness, all these are signs that your liver is failing, sir," said the young doctor, pressing forward with cold determination. "And I saw your handkerchief just before I came in; I saw the blood. I suspect you've been vomiting up blood as well."

When Haddock said nothing the doctor sighed and removed his spectacles. "Captain Haddock, despite my numerous warnings since you became my patient two years ago you continue to poison yourself with that foul substance. I have seen too many sailors die slow, painful deaths thanks to the drink. Surely you don't want to share their fate?"

"Of course I don't!" Haddock suddenly thundered, banging his fist on the nearby desk so hard that the pens rattled. Despite his youth however the doctor didn't back down but simply crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at Haddock. Haddock had to give the lad credit for professionalism for he hadn't even flinched at Haddock's explosion.

"No, I don't want to die," said Haddock in a much quieter tone. "But I _can't stop._ D'ye understand that, doctor? I've tried so many times and broken so many promises to...well, never mind who." The doctor raised a dark brow at that comment but he was already experienced enough to know when to not push his patients on certain topics.

After a moment of silence Haddock sighed and leaned back in the hardback chair that sat in front of the doctor's desk. "So what now? If I stop drinking the symptoms will just go away, right?"

When the doctor's grey eyes grew even more serious Haddock felt his heart quicken. He had never seen the man look so grim before.

"Captain Haddock," said the doctor in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Even if you stopped now, this very day, I fear that the damage is already done. The symptoms you've been suffering with have grow in frequency and intensity these past few weeks. And forgive me for saying so, sir, but you are nearly fifty. You are not a young man anymore and your body simply has endured too much abuse for far too long."

Here the doctor paused and glanced down at his clasped hands that rested on his desk. He wondered if this part of his job would ever grow easier. He took a deep breath before looking back up at the older man.

"I think," he said slowly. "That you should start getting your affairs in order."

Haddock stared at the man, hardly able to believe what he had just heard. The implication was simply too much to bear. "Don't be ridiculous!" said Haddock, shaking his head. "I feel fine!"

When the doctor simply arched a brow Haddock scowled. "All right, perhaps not 'fine'," he said grudgingly. "But just because I've been feeling poorly for the past three-"

"Five, sir," said the doctor quietly.

"Fine, _five_ months," snapped Haddock. "Just because I've been feeling poorly for five months doesn't mean I'm for Davy Jones' locker, now does it?"

The doctor shook his head as he wrote something down on his prescription pad. He tore the paper off and handed it to Haddock, who stuffed it into his pocket without looking at it.

"I've given you some things which should alleviate the pain and fatigue somewhat."

Haddock grunted a 'thank you' and stood to go.

"I am sorry, Captain Haddock," said the doctor, also standing.

Haddock sighed and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Not your fault, doctor. You did warn me enough after all. So, same time next month?"

"Yes," said the doctor as he opened the door for Haddock and followed him out into the corridor. "But should you need me before then...well, you know how to reach me."

"Right. Good day, doctor." Haddock placed his cap on his head before slipping quietly out of the doctor's office.

The doctor stood in the corridor for a moment. No, he thought to himself, telling men and women that they were going to die would never get easier, God help him.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face before squaring his shoulders and returning to his office so that he could prepare for his next patient.

Later that evening Haddock picked at his supper though he did his best to keep a cheerful countenance, especially since both Tintin and Chester were visiting for the weekend. He could feel Nestor's piercing gaze on his back - the man missed nothing, confound him - and while Tintin glanced in concern at Haddock's nearly full plate he said nothing.

Once dinner was over Tintin excused himself to go work on an article. Haddock waved him off and watched with a faint smile as Tintin gathered up his notebook and pen, already scribbling down notes as he headed towards his room.

Hadddock was thankful that dinner had been short and he had eaten little, because as soon as he reached the landing of the second floor his stomach and throat started burning with a familiar, dreaded ache.

It was Chester who eventually found Haddock leaning over the sink in the washroom, gripping the sides of the basin with white-knuckled intensity. Chester had long suspected what was happening and his heart sank as he saw the confirmation of his suspicions splattered in brilliant scarlet in the sink.

"Haddock, you old fool," said Chester from the doorway. "You should have told me."

Haddock's head dropped for a moment and Chester felt his chest clinch in sympathy. "I know, old friend," said Haddock, his voice hoarse from vomiting. "I'm sorry Chester. I truly didn't think it was this serious until now."

"And what did the doctor say?"

Haddock winced and dropped his head again, broad shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had been dropped upon them.

Chester didn't have to ask; the bleak expression in Haddock's eyes said it all.

"Are you going to tell him?" said Chester after he had found his voice.

Haddock lifted his head and fixed Chester with a steely glare that would have made lesser men quake in their boots. "No, and you're not to say one word to Tintin either. Do you hear me, Chester?"

Chester sighed and raised himself up from where he had been leaning against the doorway to the washroom. "You can't hide this from him, Haddock. That butler of yours already sees too much and I'll wager Calculus will soon know as well. I swear that man is not nearly as deaf as he insists."

Haddock ignored Chester while he rinsed his mouth out to get the foul, coppery taste of blood off of his tongue. He noticed Chester wince when he saw the bloody streaks against the white porcelain but Chester wisely refrained from commenting. He had known Haddock for over two decades and knew when the man's flash temper was near the end of its tether.

"I know I can't hide it forever," said Haddock, finally straightening and running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"Tintin's nearly twenty-one," Chester continued as he followed Haddock down the hall, stopping outside of Haddock's bedroom. "He is not the sixteen year-old you first met and you cannot protect him forever."

"I know that Chester," said Haddock, suddenly looking far older than forty-six. "It's just...I've broken so many promises to the boy over the years; I know him like the back of my hand. He'll blame himself."

Chester clasped Haddock's shoulder, the firm grip a comforting anchor against Haddock's whirling emotions. God, he was just so tired. "And that's exactly why you need to talk to him, my friend. Good night."

After Chester had left Haddock dressed for bed but by 2:00am he knew he wasn't going to find sleep this night. He rose and tugged on his dressing gown before navigating his way to the study. He had no worries about waking anyone as the library was on the opposite wing from the guest quarters.

Once inside the library he stoked the fire back into life and then sat down at his large writing desk. Haddock stared at the telephone on his desk for several long moments, the only sound being the steady ticking of the clock and the soft crackling of the fire. Finally, he picked up the phone and began to dial the number for his solicitor in London. He needed to make some changes to his will.


End file.
